


Home

by Unicoranglais



Series: SDR2 Character Oneshot Project [3]
Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Execution, Flashback, Flirting, M/M, Onesided, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unicoranglais/pseuds/Unicoranglais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just wants to go home…</p><p>(Spoilers for things up to and including Chapter One, some perverted stuff, Hanamura-centric, hints of Hanamura/Komaeda - written for the SDR2 Character Oneshot Project on Tumblr.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

_Written for the SDR2 Character Oneshot Project, see[here](http://spoonerdog.tumblr.com/post/63723565444/its-listin-time-behold-my-latest-runaway) for more details on this._

**Home**

It’s incredible, when you really think about it, that after just two days on a tropical island where the skies are ever blue, living surrounded by shapely females wearing very little in the way of clothing and muscled males baring their chests to the world, the world–class perv–  _chef_  – just wants to go home.

Oh, he’d loved it all at first, his fat little body almost bled dry by his own stereotypical nosebleed, piggish eyes crinkling with his enormous grin. Even now, two long and painful days later, he can still remember his first time, when he was first permitted to touch and explore. It was everything a bad porn flick might have come out with – the two males grunting and groaning under the blazing sun, as Teruteru Hanamura made it known on the white sands of Jabberwock Island that he was not only skilled at cooking, but _also_  rather talented at–

–rubbing sunburn cream into every crack and crevice of the big man’s back. It wasn’t exactly  _sex_ , sure, but it was a lot closer than just looking and wishing; Hanamura had literally gotten to finger the big guy all over, and hadn’t been thrown the length of a football field as a result. The best bit of the arrangment was that in the absence of any otherself–proclaimed voyeur, he was allowed to have his pick of the crop – to  _hell_  with that, he could (and did) ‘study’ every bared piece of skin that came into his line of sight! Oh, how much fun he had…

…but now he’s a broken little male – hardly a man and hardly a boy, something stuck in between. A monster, if you really think about it; a  _murderer_ , even, however accidental it was, an immature little boy who still feels responsibility in spades, much as he tries to hide it.

He just wants to go home. He doesn’t want to go see the pretty courtroom with the panty shots, doesn’t want to go see the pretty white–haired boy alternately attacking and defending him, doesn’t want to go see the pretty plane that’s going to deliver his doom, doesn’t want to go see the pretty volcano that’ll swallow him up.

He just wants to go home; he breaks and says it, cries, spews random syllables with no meaning. But the pretty people merely stare, faces blank, refusing to defend him. He never sees their reactions to his execution, of course, but he wonders just before the sickening final drop towards oblivion – are they staring in horror? And if so, is it  _real_ horror, or social horror?

The answer doesn’t matter.

Because all little Teruteru Hanamura knew (in that moment where the chain unwound and he fell, screaming and sobbing and wailing until the lava filled his mouth), was that he never was going to return home…

––––––––––––––––

The funny thing about it all is that at first, he figured that he’d never want to go home. Here he was, well cared for and with everything he could have ever wanted – what need was there for going home? Heck – even after Monobear showed up, little Teruteru was still pretty confident that it’d all be over in a few weeks. The others could kill each other all they liked; he wasn’t a murderer by nature, and he wasn’t going to get himself killed. Simple as that, really.

It all went wrong (or at least, it all  _started_ going wrong) when the little cook decided to have himself a little bit of ‘alone time’ with a rather pretty white-haired teen who had so far resisted his amorous advances. He had been rather blunt about it, too, even stepping in to defend a particularly pretty young princess from the chef’s little ‘suck the poison out of my lower body’ charade – and to many a budding voyeur, such a display would surely have stopped them in their tracks, paralyzed them with a mixture of embarrassment and fear.

However, for Hanamura, the behaviour of Nagito Komaeda merely served to excite the chef’s instincts – he  _liked_ danger, or at least liked a good challenge, and this lanky looker certainly appeared to be ample reward, should he succeed. The teenager didn’t exactly have much muscle under that coat, true, but he was easily the perfect ‘pretty boy’ of the bunch – Hinata and Kuzuryuu were a little on the short side, Souda on the tall, Gundam a little too muscular, Nidai an entirely different ball park – but Komaeda, _ahhhh_ , Komaeda was of perfect anime proportions. Not only that, either – his eyelashes were long and girly, his outfit hardly as exotic as the others’, and he was blessed with wild white hair that practically begged for Hanamura’s comb. Yes, Komaeda was a fine prize indeed, and one that the chef would be all too happy to work and wait for.

Speaking of waiting, Hanamura didn’t have to wait long before he could make his make his move, when his target was left on his own; in a bizarre twist, the supposedly lucky white–haired teen had found himself losing a lottery of his own devising, which meant that he was to clean the lodge from top to bottom. Komaeda had called it bad luck, of course, but for Hanamura at the time, it was _good_ luck, a sneaky grin slipping across his face as he walked to the lodge.

How could he have known that all too soon, the white haired teen would be calling his cleaning–duty status ‘good luck’ and telling Hanamura that he was ‘unlucky’?

And now, standing at the door, it’s almost as if the chef  _does_ know – but that’s only for a moment, and then he enters – no, much more than that,  _much_ more than that! He  _enters_ , see, as he has taught himself to enter, with not a trace of that old life in his ramrod–straight back, standing high on his toes to try and hide his height as best as he can. He gives the sole occupant of the room the usual tip of his little chef’s hat, standing high on his toes, all cheesy grin and–

–and it’s all for  _nothing_ , because Komaeda happens to have a knife in his hand and a sick smile twisting his pretty features.

“K–Komaeda?”, the chef stutters, immediately cursing himself six seconds later. “What are you d– _doing?_ ”

“What am I doing, Hanamura…?” The pale teen considers him for a long moment, then smiles gently. “Why – I’m planning to kill someone, of course. I was just waiting for you…” His green eyes flicker over Hanamura, and the other teen automatically shivers, wishing that he’d never come in here, that he’d never called out, that he’d never–

The chef blinks, tuning out for a brief moment in his panic, and suddenly Komaeda’s shirt and jacket are off. His smile’s savage now – there’s something clearly not right about him, however alluring his body might happen to be. Hanamura freezes on the spot, caught between backing away and rushing forwards; and ultimately that’s his big mistake. To have run Komaeda down would surely have unnerved him at this early stage of the game, and to have run away would have been to not have known what the white–haired weirdo had in store. But instead, the chef stays, watching and drinking all the pretty details of that slender body, those muscles–

“Of course, if you think you can stop me, I would just  _love_  to see your hope, shining brightly through the night… And if you were to manage it… I  _do_ have a certain respect for hope, you understand.” Komaeda gestures to his body, tracing the fingers of his left hand almost absentmindedly down his chest – though he surely  _knows_ Hanamura’s undergoing the mother of all nosebleeds right now, because that violent smile goes to a cruel smirk in about half a second. Their eyes meet, and it’s Hanamura who looks away – at that, the pale boy tilts his head in a fashion nothing short of condescending. “I’m  _lu–cky_ , see? I know this could only work with you, and here you are. So, if you like what you see…” Komaeda flicks his wrist, and it’s as though he’s just broken some ridiculous spell he was holding Hanamura under all this time. The chef runs from the offer, certainly, he runs right out the door, but…

…but the other teenager knows he’ll come back to him, if Komaeda is lucky, and Komaeda is  _always_ lucky. The idiot will end up killing up someone else tonight, because of that same luck; he’ll kill himself, and he’ll never bother anyone else, ever again. And Hanamura  _will_ act, will end up killing someone by accident – after all, Komaeda told Hanamura that he was planning on killing _someone_ tonight. He just never said who – how could the fool have known that  _he_ was the target all along…?

_Such a hopeless case…_

_Oh well, at least one thing’s for sure._

_After tonight, Teruteru Hanamura will never go home._


End file.
